Post by Darien Kachine on Mar 15, 2007 11:04:23 GMT -5
The sun was hot on my back, but I paid it no heed as I continued to sketch. The bird that had settled on the edge of the fountain was not going to hold still for me forever and I had to get it down on the paper, I had to. A line here… and here… deeper shading there…and there. The little bird's head tilted to the side and I had to keep myself from scolding it. Then, in a rush of feathers, the bird took wing, small, frantic noises following it's departure.
"Damn," I cursed, trying to finish the sketch before the details began to fade in my mind.
"That's amazing," said a voice over my shoulder. "I almost expect it to fly from the page."
"Not now," I said dismissively. "I have to finish it." My hand flew over the page, filling in lines, adding shading that gave the hint of the fountain, smoothing edges with the side of my finger so the bird's shadow pooled beneath it's feet.
There, it was done. I looked at it, creasing my brow. It was done, but I was far from satisfied. If the bird had stayed for just five more minutes I could have been assured that every detail was perfect, but it had been scared away.
Hopping to my feet, I turned on the man who had scared away my subject.
"I'm not going to class," I told him, certain he was a teacher I had just not yet met. "I have no need to learn how to pour tea and kneel unobtrusively."
He tilted his head to the side and looked me over. "I am not a member of your House, boy," he told me. "I am Barnett Kachine, one of the foremost marquists in Terra d'Ange."
"Oh," was all I could think to say in answer. My eyes drifted to the lines of the cloak he was wearing and the way it flowed along his side and brushed the ground. My fingers began to twitch, as if sketching it even though there was no pencil in my hand.
"So," he said slowly. "You don't want to be an adept, eh? How old are you boy?"
"Fifteen," I answered, still focusing on his cloak… it was such a lovely rich shade of brown… like burnt walnuts.
"Perfect," he said, then turned and swept inside.
Damn, would no one sit still for me today?
"Damn," I cursed, trying to finish the sketch before the details began to fade in my mind.
"That's amazing," said a voice over my shoulder. "I almost expect it to fly from the page."
"Not now," I said dismissively. "I have to finish it." My hand flew over the page, filling in lines, adding shading that gave the hint of the fountain, smoothing edges with the side of my finger so the bird's shadow pooled beneath it's feet.
There, it was done. I looked at it, creasing my brow. It was done, but I was far from satisfied. If the bird had stayed for just five more minutes I could have been assured that every detail was perfect, but it had been scared away.
Hopping to my feet, I turned on the man who had scared away my subject.
"I'm not going to class," I told him, certain he was a teacher I had just not yet met. "I have no need to learn how to pour tea and kneel unobtrusively."
He tilted his head to the side and looked me over. "I am not a member of your House, boy," he told me. "I am Barnett Kachine, one of the foremost marquists in Terra d'Ange."
"Oh," was all I could think to say in answer. My eyes drifted to the lines of the cloak he was wearing and the way it flowed along his side and brushed the ground. My fingers began to twitch, as if sketching it even though there was no pencil in my hand.
"So," he said slowly. "You don't want to be an adept, eh? How old are you boy?"
"Fifteen," I answered, still focusing on his cloak… it was such a lovely rich shade of brown… like burnt walnuts.
"Perfect," he said, then turned and swept inside.
Damn, would no one sit still for me today?